On the Road
by Abisian
Summary: Days after leaving that burning shack, Daryl and Beth take a short break on the road. Bethyl.


_Cleaning up and letting go of some ficlets I've had hanging out on my desktop. _

_Enjoy._

_**On the Road**_

Beth was trudging a few paces behind Daryl when they approached the car. They'd fallen into an easy silence, listening to the wind stir through the trees lining the pavement. They hadn't seen any walkers for a couple miles; Daryl reckoned it was time for a break.

He pulled his crossbow over his head and placed it on the hood of the Oldsmobile before leaning against the front quarter panel. The car was old and filthy, the entire left side crumpled and warped; he was tracing circles in the thick layer of dirt when Beth slipped up beside him.

"So humid out here," she breathed as she uncapped their canteen. She took a quick sip before holding it out to Daryl. Daryl had found the canteen during the initial inspection of the shack they'd burned down. It hadn't been their only memento …

Beth flushed, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks; heat that had nothing to do with the Georgia weather and everything to do with the memory of her arms wrapping around Daryl's waist, of her cheek pressed against his back. He'd smelled like leather, sweat, and alcohol. He'd been tense, hands balled into tight fists at his side, but as she eased her arms around him she'd felt the tension let out.

Beth knew what it was like to hold and be held. She'd kissed boys and she'd touched boys and they'd kissed and touched her. But Daryl was different. Putting her arms around him hadn't been like putting her arms around Jimmy or Zach.

They had been boys. Daryl Dixon was a man.

Beth turned her face away from him as he tipped his head back, taking a long gulp from the canteen. Watching the muscles of his sweat-slicked neck flex as he drank deeply was not doing much for the deepening flush creeping along her fair skin.

Instead she looked over her shoulder into the back seat of the car. Sitting neatly on the cracked tan leather was a dusty guitar.

Beth tested the door handle and was pleased to find it was unlocked. She reached inside and grabbed the neck of the guitar, pulling it out to inspect it. One string was snapped, and there was a small crack stretching along the side. There was a faded blue strap dangling from one end; the clasp on the other end was missing.

She bumped the door closed with her hip and strode around to the hood of the car. She perched herself cross-legged square in the middle, Daryl's crossbow resting beside her knee. Her fingers draped lazily across the guitar's remaining strings, left hand holding the neck loosely.

"I won't sing; I know you don't like it," Beth teased, stroking the strings.

Daryl grunted his response and turned to face her, leaning his forearms on the hood. Beth began to hum lightly, though she made no attempt to play the broken guitar. Holding it seemed comfort enough.

A warm breeze picked up again, and Daryl watched as it played with the tendrils of Beth's hair. Her ponytail was thrown over her shoulder, baring the wisps at the nape of her neck to the wind's gentle touch.

Daryl watched her thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip. "You seem a lot happier," he said finally.

They both knew what he meant. She'd been in a much brighter mood since their conversation at that old shack, and their show of arson shortly thereafter. Truthfully, they both had been in better spirits. Beth supposed getting things off your chest had that effect.

"You know," she started, "happiness is something you gotta work for, I think. No one's just … happy. Not anymore. Not in a world like this. I used to think I wouldn't ever be happy again."

Daryl's gaze slid to her wrist, visible under the neck of the guitar. Bracelets covered the scars he knew were there.

Beth leaned slightly to the side, moving closer to him; she grinned conspiratorially.

"But I figured it out," she told him. "You gotta find ways to make yourself happy; no one else is gonna do it for you."

If he straightened up, he could be kissing her. All he had to do was lean off his arms and tilt his head and-

Her eyes slid past his, over his shoulder to the treeline. Daryl frowned and turn slightly, following her gaze. He could just barely make out a smattering of movement under the dark green canopy of trees.

"We should go," he murmured. He turned back toward Beth, somewhat disappointed to find that she'd already straightened herself up.

The spell had been broken. He'd lost his chance.

Daryl strapped his crossbow across his back once more and gripped Beth's upper arm gently to steady her as she slipped off the hood of the car. She looked sadly down at the guitar in her hands before placing it gently back down.

Daryl tugged gently on her sleeve, urging her to follow him. Her fingers slipped off the smooth wood of the guitar before sweeping up to entwine with his. Beth let Daryl pull her along as they started on their journey once more.


End file.
